Spring in Hyde Park

by Jennifer Moore

  “I should like to hear it.” Jonathan rested his elbows on his legs and leaned forward.

  “Yes,” Archie said. “Heaven knows we’ve not been able to come up with anything ourselves.”

  Maryann rubbed her arm. “Yes, well, I was just reminded when you said you needed to keep the audience’s attention . . .” She stopped, frustrated that in her nervousness she was babbling. Taking a breath and letting it out slowly, she collected her thoughts.

  “For months, the ladies’ auxiliary group in Ashford tried to raise money for a charity orphanage. The women spoke after Sunday service and at various gatherings. Over time, most of the townspeople gave them a bit of money, or else avoided them.”

  She glanced up, and instead of an indulgent smile, Jonathan’s expression was one of interest. He gave her a small nod.

  “One week, the ladies brought a child—a beautiful little girl with bare feet, dressed in a threadbare smock. The ladies told the story of how her parents had died a year earlier of smallpox, and she had nowhere to go.

  “Within only a few hours, the funding for the orphanage was exceeded, because the townspeople were able to associate a face with the cause.” She glanced at Archie and saw that he was watching her attentively. “I thought perhaps if you used a real person—a sheep farmer, perhaps—told his story, described his home life, and the concessions he’s been forced to make to his livelihood as the water for his flock has become scarce. Maybe it will make a difference.”

  Her last words trailed off, and the men remained silent. She winced at her own audacity. Did she truly think she knew what to say to Parliament?

  “Of course, it is a silly idea, and you both know much better—”

  “Silly?” Jonathan rubbed his hands together. “It is brilliant.” A smile flashed across his face. “Simple, and yet the very thing to illustrate the hardship on an individual.”

  Archie’s gaze moved between the two of them. “A very perceptive scheme. Tug on the old heartstrings. I’m only sorry I did not think of it myself. And I know just the sheepherder.”

  “Can we meet him tomorrow?” The frustration in Jonathan’s gaze had turned to focus. He moved to the desk and dipped a quill into the ink, making a note.

  Maryann’s heartbeat quickened, and excitement skittered through her nerves as she watched him. The thrill of seeing his enthusiasm and knowing she caused it made her grin.

  The men spread papers on the low table, bending forward until their heads nearly touched while they compared data and made a plan to interview the sheepherder. Maryann realized the hour was quite late. She rose. “I shall leave you to it, then.”

  “I think you should stay and write his speech,” Archie said with a sweep of his hand.

  She blushed. “Good night, gentlemen.”

  Jonathan stopped her at the door. “I will see you safely to your bedchamber.”

  She nodded. When he lifted her hand to his arm, a new sensation flowed from his touch, different than the shyness or blushes of a lady flirting with a man. The feeling heated her blood, leaving her restless.

  The pair walked slowly; the guest room where she slept while her chamber was being decorated was only up one flight of stairs after all. The unsettled feeling grew. Maryann tried to understand exactly what was happening inside her. She felt both nervous and extremely comfortable. A tinge of fear mixed with pleasure at his company. Describing the conflicting emotions was impossible, and she wondered if the long day had left her tired, or perhaps she had eaten too many carrots.

  When they reached the doorway, Jonathan turned her by the shoulders to face him. “I cannot express enough gratitude to you for today. The way you cared for my mother and how you helped me . . .” He cleared his throat, then brushed his thumbs along her jawline.

  The combination of emotions welled up inside her again, and she did not know which one to cling to. She rested her fingers tentatively on his arms, unsure of how to touch him. “It was not much help. I can see in your face that this issue is important to you, so I thought of how to make it important to those who hear you.”

  He touched her cheek. “You do not give yourself enough credit. Even though your taste in vegetables is questionable, you are very intuitive.”

  Maryann smiled at his teasing and was surprised when he pulled her into an embrace, holding her against him.

  She clung to the sleeves of his jacket, breathing in his spicy smell and thinking she might melt from the thrill of being held in his arms. They’d not yet shared all the intimacies of husband and wife, and she was grateful that Jonathan seemed to want to give her time. Perhaps once her bedchamber was complete . . . The thought made her dip down her head, grateful he could not read her mind.

  Jonathan lifted her face and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Good night,” he whispered and opened the door to her bedchamber.

  When she regained her senses, Maryann closed the door, crossed the room, and collapsed dramatically on the bed, holding a hand to her chest and another to her cheek, wondering if it was possible for a heart to burst from the pure bliss that followed such a simple thing as a man’s embrace.

  Chapter Eight

  Jonathan awoke and, for a moment, did not know why panic made his skin prickle. Then he remembered it was the day of his speech. Heaving a sigh, he sat up. If only he could make the others see how vital this issue was for their future. He had met with both sheepherders and miners on his own properties, had seen the tension and the need to establish regulations.

  Becoming acquainted with Archie’s tenant, Bob Chester, and learning of his personal struggles had further reinforced the urgency. If laws were set in place now, future conflicts would be avoided.

  He rose and, with the help of his valet, shaved, then proceeded to dress. When he opened his drawer to remove his pocket watch and cuff links, he saw an envelope with his name in unfamiliar writing. Lifting it, he felt something small and heavy inside. As he opened the flap and tipped it, a pocket watch fob fell out. He held it up in front of the window, studying it: the ball was a rather plain design with a smooth blue stone inlaid in silver.

  He unfolded the letter.

  Dear Jonathan,

  Since I cannot come to hear you speak today, I thought you might wear this pendant on your pocket watch to remind you that if I were there, I would listen to your speech and, at the end, clap until my hands were red—if indeed clapping is allowed in Parliament.

  The man at the shop told me the stone is called lapis lazuli. I thought the deep blue was beautiful and very calming. Perhaps the cool feel of the pendant will ease your nerves before you speak.

  I also hope when you feel it pulling on the pocket of your waistcoat, it shall remind you how very proud I am of you. And how happy I am to be your wife (even if you find carrots repulsive).

  Affectionately,

  Maryann

  He reread the letter, a smile growing on his face, and warmth spreading through his chest. The message was short and not written elegantly, but he could hear it as if it were spoken in Maryann’s own voice. The thoughts were expressed sincerely and made all other formal communications seem artificial by comparison. He tucked the letter into his jacket.

  He held up the fob once again, looking at it with new eyes. Thinking of Maryann choosing it—not because the jewel was valuable or the setting tasteful, but because she liked the color and feel of the stone—made it infinitely more precious. He attached it to the watch chain and ran his fingers over the smooth surface, thinking it was just the thing to calm his nerves.

  Feeling lighter than he had in weeks, he whistled as he descended the stairs and met Archie in the dining room. Archie’s brows lifted, but he did not comment on his friend’s mood. After a hurried breakfast, they left for the Session.

  Throughout the day, Jonathan found his fingers straying to his waistcoat pocket, and he took comfort from the simple bauble because of the enormity of what it represented.

  Later that afternoon, when Parliament was adjourned, Jonath
an exchanged handshakes and accepted congratulations from the men in his party. The motion had passed by a landslide vote and was on its way to becoming a law. The men praised his speech and predicted a fine political career, following in his father’s footsteps.

  The mood in White’s Gentlemen’s Club was cheerful in spite of the darkening clouds outside. The week was ended, votes tallied, and all had parties and receptions to look forward to that evening.

  Jonathan rose as another man approached. Lord Stanhope took his hand. “Fine speech, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Jonathan darted a glance to the door as Lord Stanhope continued speaking about the importance of water rights and his personal plans to implement changes among his own tenants.

  “I appreciate your support, my lord,” Jonathan said a few moments later and excused himself, realizing he hadn’t heard half of what the man said. He returned to join Archie at his seat near the window.

  “You can’t even enjoy your success.” Archie rolled his eyes. “I know you want to hurry home and tell her everything. I already sent for the carriage.”

  Rain spattered against the window as Jonathan stared at his friend. Had he really been so transparent? “There is no hurry. We can remain as long as you like. You’ve only just started your drink.”

  Archie stood, pulling up Jonathan by the elbow. “The brandy here is excellent, but watching you mope for hearth and home takes any diversion out of the experience. Come along. I’m anxious to see her face as well when you tell her how flawlessly you performed today.” Archie winked, and Jonathan was glad his friend understood him as well as he did. His heart tripped as he thought of Maryann’s smile when she heard the results of the speech. And it was because of her own suggestion that the speech was so well received. Archie was right. He could not wait to tell her.

  The image of wrapping her into his arms came into his mind, and he felt an impulse to run to the carriage and urge the horses to a gallop. He brushed his fingers over the pocket watch fob and blew out a breath as he rocked back on his heels and waited patiently for the attendant to notify him that the carriage was waiting.

  Archie leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed and watched Jonathan with a smirk that made him believe his friend could almost read his mind.

  The carriage ride seemed exceptionally long. The rain intensified as they drew nearer to the townhouse, and a lightning bolt lit up the street. Jonathan realized he was nearly bouncing on his seat and forced himself to sit back and appear casual, if only to keep Archie from snickering.

  He fingered the cool stone of the fob, wondering if Maryann would be waiting or if he would have to find her. She might be in the drawing room, or perhaps looking over window treatment styles with his mother.

  Thunder boomed.

  Jonathan was certain her eyes would light up when he entered the room. She’d ask questions, wondering how the speech was received, and perhaps her gaze would drop to his waistcoat pocket to see if her gift hung from his watch chain.

  Another bolt of lightning. The carriage turned a corner. They were almost home.

  Archie, he thought, would answer most of the questions, and Jonathan imagined the pride in Maryann’s large eyes when she heard their news. Would she run to him? He imagined he could make her blush if he kissed her in front of—

  “Well, that’s strange.” Archie’s voice drew him from his contemplations.

  “What is strange?”

  “It looks as though someone is leaving.” He tipped his head toward the carriage window.

  Jonathan peered through the drips of rain. He could see the blurry shape of one of his carriages waiting in front of his house. A sinking started in his stomach. “Stop the coach.”

  Archie banged on the roof, and the driver halted on the road in front of the house next to Jonathan’s. A moment later, Maryann hurried down the steps and into the waiting carriage. His mind returned to the other instances she’d gone out at odd times. Where could she possibly be going? Regular calling hours were long past. The heaviness grew. “Follow. But do not let us be seen.”

  Archie studied him for a moment, then leaned over and opened the door, speaking to the carriage driver. He sat back inside, shaking the drops from his hair as the carriage moved forward.

  Jonathan could feel the curiosity in his friend’s gaze, but Archie remained silent.

  They traveled through Kensington Gardens and emerged north of Hyde Park, traveling east. The carriage left the main roads and wound through neighborhoods, finally stopping on Craven Hill.

  Jonathan and Archie watched as Maryann exited the carriage, then hurried across the street and up the steps of a nondescript stone house. She was admitted, and a moment later, a light appeared in an upstairs room. A silhouette Jonathan recognized as his wife’s moved in front of the window and embraced a person who rose upon Maryann’s entrance to the room.

  He sat back, his stomach sick. He thought of the first night he’d met her in the blowing storm. She’d been going somewhere—here? Her carriage was headed in this very direction. And the day he’d returned to London, Maryann had been out. Who was she meeting? Her words on the day he’d left for Northampton. There is . . . someone. I must stay here.

  He could not allow his mind to travel along this path. A pain started in his chest, and the backs of his eyes stung.

  Maryann had blushed when he mentioned her bedchamber; she behaved nervously when he touched her face or held her hand. She acted so innocent. Pure as the driven snow, he’d thought to himself with affection for her naïveté. Was she playacting this entire time? Hiding behind this schoolgirl persona while conducting herself very differently behind his back. He rubbed his burning eyes. Anger burned inside his chest. The emotion was joined by something else, the same feeling he’d experienced when his father died: the pain of loss.

  “What are you waiting for?” Archie’s voice bellowed. “Let’s go in there and—”

  Jonathan shook his head.

  Archie grabbed the door handle. “I’ll not allow them to make a fool of you. Challenge him to a duel. I’ll be your second—”

  Jonathan banged his fist on the roof. The carriage started moving, and he slumped down in his seat. He rubbed his chest, surprised at the ache he felt there.

  “Why?” Archie said. “She is your wife, and you are a peer. You could see him transported, if you like. Or even hanged, if he lives that long. Why not stop this? Why not fight for what is yours?” His friend breathed hard, and his hands were balled into fists on his knees.

  Jonathan felt as if he’d run a hundred miles. His thoughts were muddled, and he was exhausted. The ache in his chest grew stronger. “It would only hurt her.” He pushed the words past the boulder in his throat.

  Archie stared. “Ren. Don’t you see what’s happened?”

  Jonathan looked up at him, surprised by the softness in his tone.

  “You’ve gone and fallen in love with your own wife.” Archie heaved a heavy sigh. “Blasted tough luck, old boy.”

  Chapter Nine

  Maryann and Jonathan’s mother sat in the drawing room after supper. The air felt heavy. Maryann swallowed over her thick throat as she thought about the miserable supper they’d just had.

  “What has happened?” she mused aloud. She’d thought her relationship with Jonathan was agreeable. More than agreeable, in fact. He’d kissed her cheek, and the action had melted her heart. She’d left him a secret gift and imagined it was the beginning of something wonderful. But ever since the day of his speech, he’d not spoken more than a few short words to her. “Mother Kathleen, what has changed?”

  “I do not know, my dear. Jonathan seems so . . . distant.” She moved closer to Maryann, sitting beside her on the settee. “I can only suppose he feels the pressure of his new title, along with the responsibilities of Parliament.”

  Maryann supposed the Water Rights Committee was taking up quite a lot of his time, but more than simply busy, he seemed distracted. He’d not even smiled when she sli
pped a parsnip onto his plate at dinner. The only thing she could think was her gift had offended him. Perhaps he did not like the color, or what if she had spent too much money? But that could not be reason enough for his avoidance. Had he discovered Jane? What would he do if he had?

  She glanced up at Mother Kathleen, feeling dejected. “It is more than that, I fear. Even Archie seems to be angry with me.”

  “You should not blame yourself. I shall talk to Jonathan tomorrow. His treatment of you is inexcusable. A husband should not turn his frustrations onto his wife.”

  Kathleen seemed certain the change in behavior was caused by worries outside the home, but Maryann could not help but feel as though Jonathan’s change was because of her. “I do not know if speaking with him would make things worse or better,” she said.

  “Well then,” Kathleen said. “I might have to join you in pugilism training if things do not improve.”

  Maryann forced a smile at the attempt to cheer her. “I think I will retire before the men finish their port. I do not think I am very good company this evening. Please tell Jonathan good night.”

  Maryann returned to her bedchamber. She’d been delighted to move her things into the new rooms, but in the last few days, her excitement had dissipated. She sat at her dressing table long after the household was asleep, staring into the mirror of her beautiful new dressing table without seeing anything. Her insides felt like lead.

  She’d not changed into her night clothing, thinking the darkened evening clouds indicated a storm was on the way. As she’d predicted, rain had started a half hour earlier. If the storm worsened, she would need to go to Jane. She was typically able to calm her with a story or by reading a book until the thunder passed.

  Standing, she paced around the edges of the room, running her fingers over the ridge of the new wainscoting. Even lavender walls, a watercolor landscape, and cream-colored bedding could not lift her spirits. Something in this household had changed, and she felt as if she should know how to fix it.